


Shore Leave

by Brenda



Category: Captain America (Movies), Captain America - All Media Types, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Boys In Love, Bucky in Wakanda, But lbr here, Domestic Bliss, Everything is Beautiful and Everything Hurts, M/M, Nomad Steve Rogers, Okoye/Starbucks, POV Steve Rogers, Post-Black Panther (2018), Pre-Avengers: Infinity War Part 1 (Movie), Steve Is A Smart Man, Stubborn Steve Rogers, The Only OTP That Matters Is, farmer!bucky, they are so married
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-11
Updated: 2018-05-11
Packaged: 2019-05-05 12:05:09
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,563
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14618141
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Brenda/pseuds/Brenda
Summary: When Nat insists Team!Nomad needs a break from the road, Steve heads to Wakanda, and the only home that matters.





	Shore Leave

**Author's Note:**

  * For [boopboop](https://archiveofourown.org/users/boopboop/gifts), [bitelikefire (theoleo)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/theoleo/gifts).



> Because I promised Boop and Lammii some pre-Infinity War domestic fluff to counter-act the pain of the end of the movie.

After seven years of working side by side, and a year on the run together while living in close quarters, Steve thought he had a better handle than most on the subtle shift of Nat's moods. On deciphering the little tricks and tells only those closest to her could read. Most of the time, she was a knife-edged enigma wrapped in a fathomless mystery, with hidden layers and an agenda she kept close to her heart; the work to even attempt to unravel her would take a lifetime. Sam had long ago stopped trying to figure her out, said it was a little like trying to learn the science behind a magic trick – ultimately unsatisfactory, the knowledge a hollow victory.

But right now, watching the stiff line of her spine and the tight set of her mouth, Steve thought even Sam would have no problem in discerning that Nat was pissed as hell, and her ire was directed squarely Steve's way.

He waited until Sam got the quinjet safely in the air before he walked to the weapons hold. Nat was sitting on one of the benches. Her gun was in pieces in front of her, and she was viciously cleaning the barrel like it had personally offended her. Steve straddled the bench across from her, and waited silently, knowing she wouldn't speak until she was good and ready. He'd learned that lesson the hard way, what seemed like a lifetime ago. 

It wasn't until she'd snapped the magazine in place that she lifted her head. Green eyes, normally cool and calculating, were bright with barely concealed fury. Which, he was used to their spirited debates on any number of subjects, ranging from what to have for dinner to how to extract information from an enemy agent. But true anger from her was unusual. Had his hackles rising, his fight or flight instinct kicking into high gear.

"You were sloppy out there," she finally stated, the mild delivery doing nothing to disguise the temper threading through her every word.

He had to fight to keep his own features even, and his chin from jutting out in response. "Excuse me?"

She cocked her head slightly, like she was a scientist studying a particularly interesting insect. This time, her tone was glacial-cold. "You heard me."

"Last I looked, we successfully completed the mission."

She snorted, her lips thinning into a flat line. "And Sam had to watch your flank instead of focusing on –"

Sam half-turned in the pilot seat, his voice carrying easily. "Hey, now, don't bring me into this –"

"Are you disagreeing with me, Sam?" Nat asked, sickly sweet and oh-so-deadly.

Sam, because he was a very smart man and recognized a losing cause when he saw one, shook his head. He gave Steve a sympathetic _you're on your own_ glance, and turned his gaze back to the cockpit window. "I didn't say that."

"Good."

Steve pinched the bridge of his nose. "If I let the team down –" he started, but Nat cut him off, impatient.

"It's not about that, and you know it. Don't play dumb." She scooted closer on the bench, a predator readying her strike. "You're compromised. You need some downtime."

 _Compromised_. The thought rankled, the words hitting their mark with Nat's usual unerring accuracy. "We take downtime, trails go cold, you know that." 

Even now, he could feel that itch to be back on the ground. That visceral need to pursue the next lead, engage the next target. To be doing _something_ , anything.

"Steve." Her look was pointed, a silent rebuke. "If we don't take the time to remind ourselves why we're out here, then what's the point of doing it?"

"I know exactly why I'm out here," he reminded her. Exonerating Bucky was the fuel that kept his entire being going. There was no more important mission.

"I _know_ you know –"

"So what's your point?"

She sighed, and cast her gaze to the heavens, as if asking for patience. "My point is taking a week won't kill you," she replied, looking back at him. "It might even do you some good."

"I don't know about either of you, but _I_ could definitely use a couple of days at a spa somewhere," Sam declared, breezy and conversational, but also making it clear where he stood on the matter.

Nat's lips turned up slightly, but she kept that unflinching gaze on Steve. "Go home," she told him, her tone brooking no argument. "He'll be glad to see you."

Damn her for saying the only thing that could ever get him to back down. "You know bringing up Bucky is cheating."

Her smile widened, allowing the dimples to peek through now that her victory was assured. "I never claimed to play fair," she said. "Besides, you're outvoted."

His shoulders dropped in the face of that smile, the fight, for the moment, leaving him in one long exhale. It had been a rough few weeks, and even Steve could admit they were all a little run down and ragged. If they didn't take some time to recover and recuperate, then eventually, they'd make a mistake out in the field. And they couldn't afford to be sloppy, not when they had no backup except Wanda. And he knew dragging her into this mess was the last thing any of them wanted. She'd suffered enough.

"Okay," he said, dragging out the word, reluctantly conceding the point. "Fine, let's take a few days."

***

The small thrill Steve got at passing through the barrier protecting the Wakandan border never got old, no matter how many times he'd done it. Maybe it was the trust T'Challa had placed in him by giving him the coordinates, maybe it was knowing that he'd been entrusted with the secret to Wakanda's true self, maybe it was simply knowing that force field meant Bucky was truly safe for the first time in forever. But, whatever it was, the awe at seeing the the bustling, futuristic city under him, the awe that this country had thrived untouched for thousands of years, was still something that took his breath away. 

He set the jet down on one of the landing pads, and lowered the ramp, grabbing his backpack and hiking it over his shoulder. It felt weird to be back in civilian garb after so many weeks in uniform – the jeans and tee and boots made him feel too vulnerable. Which just drove home Nat's point, he thought. They all needed a few days of normal. 

General Okoye was waiting for him at the bottom of the ramp, and without a word, he handed her a perfectly chilled Venti Caramel Frappuccino with whipped cream and extra caramel drizzle on top. She took it with a bright grin, and a noisy sip. He grinned back at her, impossibly charmed as always in the face of her infectious joy. 

"You know," he said, gesturing at the drink, "one day T'Challa's gonna figure out why you always want to be the one to meet me when I visit."

"Let him," she replied, with an elegant shrug. "Maybe he'll finally do something about it."

"If he did, how would I bribe you to let me past the barrier?"

She laughed, light and musical. "I feel certain you would think of something," she said, and, well, it wasn't like she didn't have a point. For Bucky, he'd do just about anything.

"Yeah, I would," he replied, unrepentant, and gestured out at the rolling, lush, green plains beyond the city limits. "Is he still...?"

She nodded. "He's helping at the school today."

"He was always good with kids," Steve remarked, wistfully. "He used to talk all the time about how he wanted at least three or four of his own." 

The injustice still ate at him sometimes, a dull ache that had scabbed over, but would never heal, not completely. They'd both been denied the life they might have had after the War. A home, a family, true _peace_.

"The children do love him." She took another sip of her drink. "I trust you still know the way."

He smiled at her again, thankful and grateful to his core that Bucky had the support and respect of some of the finest people he'd ever met, that he'd been able to find sanctuary in this beautiful, pristine country, unravaged by time and war. He owed T'Challa and Shuri a debt he could never fully repay, not if he lived another century. 

"Yeah, I do," he said, hoping a little of that gratitude showed in his expression.

She just winked in answer, and turned to head back inside the palace. Steve took another minute to center himself and then set off towards the elevator bank that led to the street.

***

It took him an hour of walking to get to the village where Bucky'd been living the past eight months. Steve forced himself to stroll, to feel solid earth under his feet, to listen to the bright chatter of the birds overhead, to watch as plump bees lazily flitted from flower to flower, the air redolent with the heavy scents of spring. He'd never be able to shed the soldier, not completely, but here, he could afford to ease up on the tight rein he held on his emotions. Could remind himself that he was Steve Rogers first before he was Captain America or Nomad. 

And he owed Bucky some face time.

He heard the bright peal of youthful laughter before he crested the ridge that led to the village school. A group of about ten kids was playing soccer, agilely kicking the ball back and forth to each other, shouting encouragement and talking smack to each other in rapid-fire Wakandan. Bucky was standing at the edge of the pitch, offering support and advice, also in Wakandan. His laughter mingled with the kids, and Steve's heart expanded upon hearing it. 

God, how long had it been since he'd heard Bucky laughing like that? Free and unfettered and open, brighter than even the sunbeams shining overhead. Far too long, he thought, but let the regret wash over him. Today wasn't a day for recriminations and living in the past. Today, there was only here and now, the glorious present stretching before him, a limitless now of wonder and tranquility.

Bucky's hair was still shoulder-length, pulled off that angular, pretty face in a half-bun. He was wearing a brightly colored traditional Wakandan robe, bare feet peeking out from the hem, with an indigo-blue shawl thrown over his left shoulder to cover the stump of his arm. He looked healthy and hale, and just _seeing_ him made tension gathered at the base of Steve's neck melt. 

One of the children spotted Steve and waved wildly, grinning, before whirling around to face Bucky. "White Wolf, your boyfriend is here!"

Bucky's head jerked up, and heavy-lidded, ocean-blue eyes locked on Steve. The corners of his mouth lifted, his smile morphing into a familiar, beloved, deep-grooved grin. Steve helplessly smiled in response, his feet carrying him forward until he was close enough to drag Bucky into his arms and bury his face in the crook of Bucky's neck. 

"Hey," he mumbled, shuddering as a strong arm wrapped around his waist and held on. 

"Hey right back," Bucky replied, pressing a light kiss to Steve's temple. "This is a nice surprise."

Steve could hear the children around them alternately making exaggerated kissing and gagging noises, but he didn't move. Bucky was slimmer than he'd been when he'd first come to Wakanda, but he was still solid and real in Steve's arms, and he still smelled the same – like Brooklyn summer days. _Home_ in a way that no place could ever be.

"Missed you," he said, and mouthed at the salty-slick skin at the juncture of Bucky's neck and shoulder.

Bucky let out a pleased hum, but tightened his arm around Steve in warning. "Kids," he murmured, reminding him they had an audience.

Steve growled under his breath in frustration, but obligingly lifted his head. Smiling eyes, crinkled delightfully at the corners, met his. "Sorry," he half-heartedly offered, with a self-deprecating shrug.

"No, you're not," Bucky replied, fondly, and pressed a quick, dry kiss to Steve's lips before stepping back, and lacing their fingers together. "Come on, let's get out of here before you traumatize the youth of Wakanda even more."

"I would hate to make the elders mad at me when I just got here," Steve agreed, but reeled Bucky back in for another kiss, this one long and lingering, even though he tried to keep it as PG-rated as he could.

"You're terrible," Bucky told him, when they finally parted.

Steve shrugged again, unabashed. "Didn't hear you objecting."

"Yeah, because I've always been so good at keeping you in line," Bucky scoffed, raising Steve's knuckles to his lips, his tongue darting out lightning-quick, his half-lidded look a dare and a promise.

Steve swallowed, the blood in his body racing due south. "Yeah, okay, let's...um."

Bucky smiled at him, satisfied he'd won the round, and steered them towards the path that Steve knew led to Bucky's hut.

"BYE, WHITE WOLF!" a chorus of voices shouted after them, and Bucky laughed again, shaking his head, but didn't let go of Steve's hand to wave goodbye.

"I'm guessing you're still their favorite," Steve commented.

"I'm a novelty," Bucky replied, then cast him a sidelong glance. "Plus, they like hearing stories about you."

"Me?" Steve pointed at himself.

"Yeah, you," Bucky affirmed. "Captain America is popular even here."

"I haven't been Captain America in over a year," Steve reminded him, only a little pensive. He didn't miss the burden or responsibility of the title, not really, but he did sometimes miss the shield. 

Bucky snorted. "Face it, you can grow a beard and your hair, and change your uniform, and you're still Cap," he said. "It's who you are."

"Maybe," Steve replied. He didn't allow himself to think about it too much. Thinking about why he and Nat and Sam were living rough would mean thinking about Tony, and that wasn't a path he wanted to walk today. "How've you been?"

"More good days than bad." He let go of Steve's hand long enough to hold up the flap to his hut so Steve could duck inside. Bucky stepped in after him, and the cloth fell, shrouding them both in afternoon shadows. 

Steve dropped the backpack to the ground and glanced around – the room was still sparsely furnished, with a sleep-mat on the floor and a gorgeously carved wooden chest that Steve knew held all of Bucky's clothes and his few possessions. But most of his attention was on Bucky himself. Who was smirking at him, his look hungry, as he started to tug at Steve's belt. 

"Something you wanted?" Steve teased, even as he buried his hands in the silky fall of Bucky's hair, loosening the half-bun so the strands spilled over Bucky's shoulders.

"Mmhmm," Bucky replied, with another smile, and met Steve halfway in a scorching, toe-curling kiss, a blaze that swept over Steve's body in a white-hot wave of need.

Bucky's lips molded to his perfectly, his stubble scraping rough against Steve's beard, as they melted together, each kiss possessive and drugging. Steve scraped his teeth across Bucky's adam's apple, inhaling the faint hint of sweat and the loamy-smell of earth. Bucky murmured his assent, the fine trembling of Bucky's muscles the only outward sign that Bucky was just as affected by this as Steve.

Here, in the sheltering arms of this beautiful, pristine country, they were free to simply be themselves. Not soldiers, not icons, not pawns in a war that held no end – they could just be Bucky and Steve, Brooklyn-raised and New York strong, best friends and lovers and partners. Here, the past was unimportant, the future uncertain, and the now was the only thing that mattered.

Bucky abandoned Steve's belt to rest his hand on Steve's jaw, his thumb stroking slowly over the bristles of Steve's beard. "Still not used to this," he murmured, smiling into the next kiss.

"I can shave..." Steve offered, even though he'd have to start growing it again almost immediately.

"Nah, it suits you," Bucky replied, and trailed his fingers to Steve's nape, everywhere he touched a brand claiming Steve anew. "My rugged nomad, out there travelling the world, righting all the wrongs..."

"Buck..." A plea and a question all rolled into one desperate moan. He hungered so much he was shaking with it.

Bucky smiled, and shook his head, and pushed lightly against Steve's chest. "Get your clothes off and get on the mat before I lose my patience."

"And to think they say romance is dead," Steve lamented, but obligingly peeled off his t-shirt and flung it the floor.

Bucky's tongue flicked out to lick his lips as his gaze roamed over Steve's bare chest. "I'll be very romantic about eating your ass out, how's that?"

Steve shivered, his breath shorting in his lungs. "Yeah, okay, that...uh, works."

"Good." Bucky's eyes flicked down, his smile now feral and dangerous and everything Steve wanted. "Now take off your pants."

***

The shadows had deepened, plunging the hut into a silvery twilight, by the time Steve opened his eyes again. They'd spent a long time relearning the language of each other by taste and touch, Bucky mouthing at each vertebrae of his spine, counting them like he used to count rosary beads back at St. Therese's, before spreading him open and driving him to two orgasms with just his tongue.

They'd both dozed off after Steve'd rolled Bucky onto his back and ridden him until even his enhanced stamina had deserted him. Bucky was curled to his side, the weight of him familiar, evoking a thousand memories – from Brooklyn flophouses to cramped tents and bedrolls across Europe – every single one of them beautiful in their own way. Every one cherished like the precious gems they were.

It was hard to remember, in this hushed, peaceful space, replete and whole for the first time in months, that he'd actually fought with Nat against taking this time. That he'd had to be goaded into coming here – fuck, he should have jumped at the first opportunity. When had his life gotten so out of hand that the prospect of waking up in the same place two days in a row gave him pause? When had life on the run become preferable to trying to find a balance between being a soldier and a civilian? 

Bucky'd managed to thrive here, earning his keep through manual labor, mending fences and chopping wood and pulling weeds in the communal garden. But then, Bucky'd always been better at rolling with the unexpected and adapting to new situations. Steve tended to seethe with resentment when faced with change he hadn't instigated. A control freak to the bitter end, Bucky used to tell him, and it had always been clear it wasn't a compliment. 

"So, how long do I have you this time?" Bucky asked, interrupting Steve's thoughts, his voice thick with sleep.

Steve tightened his arm around Bucky's shoulders and pressed a kiss to sweat-damp hair. "At least a week," he said. "Maybe a little longer, but –"

"But it's not up to you," Bucky finished, softly, and tilted his face up so their eyes met. "I know."

There was no accusation in Bucky's voice, but Steve winced all the same. He owed Bucky so much more than stolen moments and sporadic visits. "I'm sorry I can't be here more –"

"No, you're not," Bucky replied, impatient and rough. "And I don't want your apology, even if you were. I made a choice to stop fighting. I never asked you to make the same one."

Like Steve was even in a position _to_ make that choice. He didn't have the luxury Bucky did – not that he begrudged Bucky at all, because God knew he'd earned the right to lay down his gun and live a life of blessedly mundane domesticity. But still, something about Bucky's cavalier attitude towards Steve's inability to be with him didn't hit right, churned at the acid guilt coursing through his system. 

"So it doesn't bother you that I keep leaving?"

Bucky shot him an annoyed look. "We've been over this," he stated. "I'm not doing it again."

"But you're happy here?" Steve pressed, although he wasn't sure why it was so important. Like Bucky'd just said, staying had been his choice. 

Bucky glanced around the small hut, his profile implacable, chiseled in marble. "I like it here," he finally said, so soft it was almost like he was speaking to himself. 

"That's not what I asked."

"No, but that's the answer you're getting." Bucky leaned up to brush his lips over Steve's. "Stop asking stupid questions," he murmured, the reprimand mild, but as effective as a slap.

"You deserve to be happy," Steve grumbled, the urge to argue just for the sake of arguing rote by this point. 

"I'm happy right now. Let that be enough." It wasn't a request. 

Steve nodded, but didn't answer. His fingers brushed over old scars: a puckered bullet wound on Bucky's side, deep lacerations across his back, angry slashes that marked where his old metal arm used to be connected to his shoulder. Reminders that he and Bucky had led two very different lives for a long time. They'd both left Brooklyn behind a lifetime ago.

Bucky's look softened. "You deserve to be happy, too, you know," he said, with quiet conviction.

Did he? Steve wasn't sure about all that, but he didn't dare say that out loud, even though he knew Bucky could still read him as well as ever. "I'm trying," was all he offered, and then, because it was the truth: "I'm happy now."

"It's enough," Bucky told him, and Steve forced himself to believe it.

They were both silent a long time, the shadows lengthening until the hut was shrouded in darkness, and the crickets started their nightly concert. Bucky relaxed in his arms again, and Steve relaxed along with him. 

"Nat said I was getting sloppy out in the field," he finally said, lazily tracing patterns along Bucky's skin. 

"Then you were," Bucky replied, no argument, not even a pause for breath.

"Aren't you supposed to take my side?" he asked, feigning outrage.

Bucky snorted, amused. "I thought _I_ was supposed to be the one with the bad memory."

Steve huffed out a small laugh, even though it wasn't funny. "Yeah, well, maybe I was just hoping you'd take pity on me."

Bucky's teeth gleamed white in the dark. "You'd end anyone who tried."

"Yeah, I guess I would," Steve replied, with a rueful smile of his own. Bucky knew him far too well.

"Romanov's just doing what I would have done," Bucky replied, then amended: "What I _did_ do, back in the day."

"I never pushed anyone harder than I pushed myself."

"Yeah, and you always forgot you were still human under that supersoldier serum of yours, and just as prone to needing a break because _and_ in spite of it," Bucky replied. "Remember what you used to tell the Howlies – what you used to tell Peggy – when they faltered?"

"Don't forget why we're out here," Steve recited, and sighed, long and low. "Some days I think the world's a scarier place than it was when we were fighting Hitler and Schmidt."

"Because it is," Bucky stated, with a kiss to Steve's jaw. "Which is why it needs people like you and Romanov and Birdbrain –"

"You two are never going to get along, are you?" The fact that his two best friends seemed to revel in sniping at each other baffled him.

"Nope, face it, we're the modern day version of Dum Dum and Morita," Bucky replied, with another sly grin.

"Oh fuck you, that's –"

"Accurate."

"Scary," Steve corrected. 

"Maybe, but they had each other's backs, and they had our backs, and Wilson and I both have yours, so I wouldn't read too much into it. I trust him watching your six out there, don't I?"

"Yeah, you do." Which, Steve supposed, was more than enough of an endorsement. 

"Any word from Stark?" It was asked with a deceptive casualness, but Steve knew how much it cost Bucky to even bring up Tony's name. The wounds were still too raw, for all of them.

He shook his head. All of his strength and cunning and determination, and he still couldn't right what went wrong between them, because righting it would mean abandoning the only person who mattered. "No, and I don't expect him to," he answered. "Last I heard, he'd sold Avengers Tower and retired. Finally popped the question to Pepper." Hearing the news third-hand had hurt, but it had been a dull sort of ache. 

"I'm glad," Bucky said, sounding sincere. "He's earned the right to settle down." 

Steve's chest ached again, dull and throbbing, insistent. "You know if you wanted –"

Bucky stilled against him. "You know we can't."

Steve remembered the argument the last time he'd brought it up – he had no idea why he'd thought he'd get a different answer today. But it didn't stop him from trying. "Pretty sure we could, if you ever felt like...well, you know..." 

Bucky kissed him again, soft and sweet, but it was tinged with a faint hint of regret. "Ask me later. I just...I need to be sure that I'm stable."

Stable. Like that mattered to Steve. "Buck, you know I don't care if you're –"

"No, I know, but _I_ care." It was lightly said, but the stiffness of Bucky's spine told a different story. _Don't push_ , his body seemed to plead. _Don't force me to give an answer neither of us want._

"Alright," Steve said, quietly, ceding the fight yet again. He could go toe to toe with dictators and homicidal maniacs and every power in the known universe with a fuck you smile and the stubborn will to match, but he'd never once been able to fight Bucky when it came to matters of the heart. "Whenever you're ready," he added, with a small shrug he knew fooled neither of them.

"Thank you."

They had time, Steve reminded himself. Maybe they couldn't be with each other like they used to, not yet, but they were together in all the ways that mattered. They were still each other's home in a way no place on a map could compete with. He needed to remember that.

He shifted until Bucky's legs were cradled between his own, his fingers running light patterns along the muscled planes of Bucky's back. Surrendered to the here and now, and the need that still shimmered between them, an oasis that was the only haven Steve would ever need. 

"You know," he commented, rolling his hips up, reveling in the solid warmth of Bucky's body above him, "if you want me to return the favor, you're gonna have to feed me at some point."

"I know." Bucky dipped his head, his hair falling into a curtain around them. "But I think you've got at least one more round in you before then," he whispered, marking Steve's lower lip with a quick slide of teeth.

"At least one," Steve moaned, surrendering to Bucky's touch without another word. 

***

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to [Steph](http://stephrc79.tumblr.com/) for the beta! 
> 
> You can now find me on [Tumblr](http://brendaonao3.tumblr.com/). :)


End file.
